The frustration of walking upon this path
we set so carefully up,
of tiny sticks and string
for the longest minute I have ever felt,
is unbearable to Bare.
Like Baring the harsh cold ocean
or the tundra where life does not see for miles;
I am dragged.
Where the occupance of life
is the same as the traveler.
My knees shake and my hands bleed,
as my mind wanders -
frozen steel of my lungs
send shivers over my skin
as they touch when I stray.
alive at last
the mendacity of existence
Propaganda like the hope I build,
like our statues or our path
IT TASTES SO fu*kING DISGUSTING,
like sand in my lungs
or salt in my eyes,
Without relief or any sign of help in this barren f**ing sea.
IT TASTES SO fu*kING DISGUSTING,
and it is here,
where the rain still falls, where the sun still soaks,
the sharks still swim, the waves still crash,
the air still stains your lungs;